


Burying Baron Burr

by a_t_rain



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Dark Comedy, Gen, Jackson's Whole, Mild Gore, Post-Canon, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_t_rain/pseuds/a_t_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivan and Byerly try to dispose of a body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burying Baron Burr

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was browsing the Bujold listserv archives, which is something you should never do unless you want your entire afternoon sucked away, when I came across the interesting tidbit that _A Civil Campaign_ was originally supposed to include a plot line in which Ivan and Byerly accidentally killed someone and had to dispose of the body. I believe Bujold was trying to make the point that she'd decided some subjects simply weren't appropriate for a light comedy; but since I spent my college years watching _Pulp Fiction_ , _Fargo_ , and _Shallow Grave_ way too many times, my own reaction was more along the lines of "But I want there to be a story about Ivan and By disposing of a _body_."
> 
> So I wrote one. It ended up taking place thirteen years later on Jackson's Whole, but I live in hope that someone will write the ACC-era version of this plot. Because clearly, this needs to be a _genre_.
> 
> This takes place about six years after [Hostage Negotiation Is the Family Business](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3275018), but you don't really need to read that one first.

“Ivan? Are you all right?”

Ivan blinked his eyes open and tried to nod, although that was difficult when you were lying flat on your back in the snow. He struggled to sit up.

“Take it slowly. Deep breaths. Put your head between your knees if you feel lightheaded. You’re doing fine.”

All of this would have been _much more reassuring_ if the voice, and the arm supporting him, had not belonged to Byerly Vorrutyer. Even more alarmingly, By looked deeply shaken, and didn’t seem to be showing the slightest inclination toward mockery or snark.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Ivan nodded. “You and I were going to meet privately with Baron Burr, because he’d hijacked a commercial shuttle and abducted the passengers, and a few of them were Barrayaran.” Byerly’s job description, over the last eight years, had evolved from _intelligence agent_ to _all-purpose fixer of trouble Barrayarans run into on Jackson’s Whole_. This encompassed a _lot_ of different kinds of trouble, and most of them tended towards the esoteric, baroque, and potentially lethal. “Now, why this was supposed to be _my_ problem when I’m here on _vacation_ , I don’t remember.”

“Because you’re Barrayaran, and discreet and reliable, and I wanted backup. Which turned out to be a _very_ good idea, in the event.”

“So we met him out here, on neutral territory and away from prying eyes – except yours, of course – and he had a couple of guards with him. You were just about to open negotiations when the guards suddenly went for their stunners, only we got the drop on them and took them down. And then I saw that Baron Burr had _his_ stunner out and aimed at you, so I rushed him and knocked him off balance so that his first shot went wide, and then –” Ivan shut his eyes and leaned heavily on By’s shoulder as the memories came rushing back. “Oh dear _God_ , By, what did you _do?_ ”

“I was only trying to stun the Baron, when I realized my stunner had shorted out. So I grabbed a weapon from the nearest guard, and shot him, and – it turned out not to be a stunner.”

“And – then his face sort of _exploded_. Right next to me.”

“Yes. And that was when you fainted.”

Ivan opened his eyes and glared at him. “ _Passed out_ ,” he corrected.

“Pardon me,” said Byerly in his most poisonously-sweet voice, “if I don’t always remember the terminology preferred by big, tough military men like you.”

Ivan felt as if the ground had suddenly become much steadier underneath him. “Oh, shut up,” he said, trying to hide his relief, “you’re looking white as a sheet yourself.”

“I know. The Baron’s _not_ a pleasant sight at the moment. I think we really ought to have a drink before we do anything else.” Byerly took a shot of vodka, and passed the bottle to Ivan. “You made fun of me for bringing vodka,” he remarked, “but I think it might be exactly what the doctor ordered. So, um, I suppose we have to figure out how to deal with this situation.”

Ivan swallowed some vodka and coughed. “This situation? This _faceless corpse of a Jacksonian baron_ , you mean?”

“Yes. That situation. We’re going to need to get rid of the body before any more of Baron Burr’s goons come looking for him. Did they teach you how to handle this sort of thing in officer training, by any chance?”

“Of course not! You think they have a Clandestine Body Disposal class? In between Introduction To Arms-Running and Money Laundering 101, maybe? It’s the _Imperial Service Academy_ , not _mobster school!_ ”

“Oh, good,” said By, “you’re starting to sound more like yourself. Alcohol really is a miracle drug. Also a useful cleaning agent.” 

He moistened a monogrammed handkerchief with vodka and applied it to Ivan’s face. Ivan shuddered. “Have I ... got bits of blood and brains all over me?”

“Not _too_ much. Not any more.” Rather reluctantly, Byerly offered, “Did you ... did you want to lie down on the sledge for a bit and let me deal with it? Because I suppose it’s _my_ faceless corpse, if you get right down to it, and you’re obviously feeling a little...”

“ _Perfectly fine_ ,” said Ivan, “and of course I’ll help. I guess ... I guess the first step is looking at him again.”

They looked. Ivan didn’t faint, this time. In fact, he seemed to be coping with their second glimpse of the mutilated Baron better than Byerly, who suddenly went ashen and said, “Fuck fuck _fuck_ , Ivan, do you realize that I almost shot _you?_ I mean I thought I had a _stunner_ , you don’t really worry about precision aiming with a stunner, and if I’d been just a little off, it would be you lying there instead of him ... Oh my _God_ what are we going to do about this? I’ve never killed anyone before. Have _you_ ever killed anyone before? Oh _fuck_.”

Ivan scooped up a handful of snow and shoved it in his face.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Byerly spluttered.

“You were getting hysterical. You’ve stopped.” 

“Oh. Um, thank you, I guess.” Byerly took another shot of vodka and went on in a disturbingly detached and precise tone of voice, “So, as I was saying, I’ve never killed anyone before. Not directly, anyhow. I’ve given information that caused people to be executed. ImpSec strongly encourages counseling, the first time an operative does that.”

“They ... help you get in touch with your _feelings_ about getting someone executed?”

“Not exactly. It’s _Barrayaran_ counseling. It’s more about telling you to buck up and be proud of having done your duty for the Imperium, and they make you brainstorm all the reasons why the person deserved to die...”

“Right. So Baron Burr deserved to die because he was a space pirate, and because he kidnapped people and sold them into slavery...”

“... And because he was making my life a lot harder –”

“You don’t get to kill people just because they’re making your _life harder_ , By. Or else I would have killed you years ago.”

“It’s _brainstorming_ , they don’t have to be _good_ reasons. So anyway, he also deserved to die because he was about to kill _us_. Those guards were clearly going for their ... not-stunners when we took them out. Shit, we’re going to need to do something about the guards, aren’t we?”

“There you are. You killed him in self-defense. Not your fault at all.”

“Unfortunately,” said Byerly, “self-defense doesn’t actually help if you’ve killed a Jacksonian baron, since there aren’t any courts or proper laws here. The best defense, if one should be so foolhardy as to kill a Jacksonian baron, is to make sure nobody ever finds out who did it. Which brings us back to our _corpse disposal_ problem.”

“ _You_ made fun of _me_ for bringing camping equipment,” said Ivan, “but I think it might be exactly what we need. Let’s get the Baron onto one of these tarpaulins, and load him onto the float-sledge. I’m sure our DNA is all over the place, but if nobody ever finds out he _died_ here, they’re not going to be searching this site.”

They rolled the Baron onto the tarpaulin. Byerly, shuddering a little, took possession of the feet end, leaving Ivan to lift what was left of the Baron’s head. He discovered that it wasn’t too bad if you didn’t _look_ at what you were doing.

“There’s still an awful lot of blood where he fell,” said By dubiously, after they had carried the Baron to the sledge.

“We could cover it over with snow, and then do a couple of passes with the float-sledge to smooth the snow out. After we’ve gotten the guards onto the sledge, of course. How are they looking?”

Byerly inspected the two men. “Still out. I’ll stun them a bit more to be certain. Then we can drop them off on the other side of the mountain with the float-scooters, and with a little luck they’ll be too disoriented to find their way back here.”

“You’ll need to take care they don’t die of hypothermia,” said Ivan.

“Oh,” said By, with the sort of devious Vorrutyer look that always put Ivan on his guard, “I’ve got an idea that should take care of that. It might have a few other fringe benefits, as well ... Do you think there’s any hope of keeping our wives and girlfriends from finding out about this at _all_ , or is it better to call for backup and bring them in on the ground floor?”

“You can call Rish if you like, but you are _not_ bringing Tej into this! Also, I have to point out that the phrase _wives and girlfriends_ implies at least four different people, and I assure you I’ve only got _one_.”

“ _You_ can have one, then,” said By, “and I’ll take all the rest. Tough job, but someone’s got to ...” A strange expression crossed his face. “Ivan, do you realize we’re standing in the snow with a dead Jacksonian baron and his two unconscious henchmen, and we’re having a _perfectly normal conversation?_ ”

“No, we’re not. _You_ wouldn’t know what a normal conversation was if it hit you in the face.”

“A moderately normal verbal fencing match. Beside a dead, faceless baron on a float-sledge. This is _surreal_.”

* * *

They brought the two guards onto the sledge and covered them with a blanket, and dug up enough fresh snow to cover the bloodstains (a task which was made more difficult by the fact that Ivan’s camping equipment included two small trowels, but no full-sized shovel). Then they skimmed the sledge over every trace of human activity until the snow looked smooth, even, and pristine. Luckily, Baron Burr and his men had arrived on individual float-scooters, which could be taken away on the sledge as well. Byerly had bagged up the not-stunners and tagged them to ensure they wouldn’t be mistaken for the real thing; he noted that both the Galactic Affairs office and Baron Cordonah would be _very_ interested in examining this new weapon.

Most of the snow had fallen on the south side of the mountain; the north side was mostly rocky and bare, with only a light crusting of frost. It was here that Byerly suggested pitching the tent and leaving the stunned guards inside a thermal sleeping bag.

“Both of them in one sleeping bag?”

“Yes. Body heat, and all that. Help me get their clothes off.”

He said this in such a natural and matter-of-fact tone that they were undressing the _second_ guard before Ivan thought to ask, “Wait. Why do we need to take their clothes off?”

“Ah.” Byerly was starting to develop that dangerous Vorrutyer smirk again. “Have you ever bedded a man who claimed to be entirely heterosexual?”

“I’ve never bedded _any_ men,” said Ivan, “unless you count your cousin, who wasn’t one at the time.”

“Well, then, give me your professional opinion _as_ a man who claims to be entirely heterosexual –”

“I don’t _claim_ , and it isn’t my _profession_ –”

“... Fine, as a man who _is_ entirely heterosexual, albeit in an amateurish way, how would you react if you woke up with a raging hangover and discovered that you were sharing a sleeping bag with, say, me? And we were both naked, and you had no memory of how we got there?”

“I would decide never to speak of it again,” said Ivan, “and I’d hope you would do the same. Now that you’re partnered, I trust that you might actually cooperate.”

“You’re right. Rish probably wouldn’t take it well if I told her that I’d slept with you –”

“Ha! I knew it!”

“– and that I had neglected to take vids commemorating the occasion. So I trust that Baron Burr’s guards will be similarly ... discreet about the events that they _do_ remember. Their first concern will be to cover their asses – figuratively as well as literally.”

“There’s one little flaw in your plan,” said Ivan. “What if neither of the guards is partnered, _and_ neither of them claims to be entirely heterosexual?”

“Well, then, we’ll have enabled a beautiful romance. Win-win. Anyway, even if they _do_ decide to start covering each others’ asses in yet a _third_ sense, the fact that they’ve lost track of the Baron should give them sufficient motive to keep quite about exactly what happened out here. And, of course, they won’t want to admit that three of them went to assassinate one troublesome little Barrayaran gadfly and couldn’t manage the job, so if they ever do report back to anyone, I expect we’ll have turned into eleven men in buckram suits and three misbegotten knaves in Kendal green before they’re through.”

“You’re ... thinking it was a deliberate assassination, then?”

“Well, of course it was. You don’t pull a deadly weapon on someone out of the blue if you’re not planning to _use_ it. And, well, it’s understood that I’m under House Cordonah’s protection, which gives me some measure of security, but there are a _lot_ of people on this planet who would be more than happy to ... dispose of me, given the opportunity.”

Byerly tried to zip the sleeping bag around the naked guards, discovered that it was overstuffed, and decided that covering them with it like a blanket would suffice. He took a small bag from his coat pocket and brushed something tiny and sparkly along the guards’ brows at the hairline.

“Is that _glitter_ you’re putting in their hair? Additional evidence of their beautiful romance?”

“ _Bugs_. And geo-trackers. It would be well if we’re able to keep tabs on what they do over the next few days.”

“Do you think they’ll ... have another shot at you?”

“Not until the next Baron Burr, or someone else of his ilk, gives them the order. These men are just the hired help. Which is why we aren’t going to kill them, of course.”

Ivan contemplated his sort-of-brother-in-law. Not a very large or imposing man. Impeccably tailored as usual, although two hours of shoveling snow over bloodstains and hauling inert bodies on and off sledges had left him a bit disheveled. Almost never without a jibe or a quip on his lips. And, as far as Ivan could tell, devoid of the manic energy and ambition that explained so much about _Miles_. “By? What the hell have you been _doing_ to make yourself so many enemies?”

“Letting the heavens fall,” said Byerly enigmatically, “and the world perish.”

* * *

Digging a grave with trowels, in rocky and frozen soil, proved to be almost impossible. Byerly, to Ivan’s bemusement, abandoned his trowel after a few minutes, rummaged through the equipment on the sledge, and returned with a _sonic hair dryer_ , which he actually attempted to use to thaw the ground, while Ivan continued to give himself blisters chipping away at the dirt.

“All right,” By admitted after the dryer began to run low on charge without doing much more than creating a very thin layer of mud, “I guess that was a silly idea.”

“Why do you even _have_ a hair dryer?”

“Well – _you_ were the one who was so keen on making sure we had enough equipment to spend the night out here, just in case. So I thought I’d better pack my usual overnight kit, with the usual necessities.”

“I’m not sure you really understand the concept of _necessity_. Or of _camping_.”

“I most _definitely_ don’t understand the concept of camping. At least, not the part where people do it for _fun_ ... You know, I think it’s time I called Rish. We’re going to need a bigger shovel. And a much bigger hair dryer.”

“ _Two_ bigger shovels. Make that _three_. _I’m_ not going to keep doing all the work while you sit here making the ground look pretty.”

Byerly stepped aside for a brief wristcom conversation. When he came back, he said, “We’re both idiots. What we need, as Rish quite sensibly pointed out, is not bigger shovels, and certainly not bigger hair dryers, but _mycoborer_. The short-acting kind, which can dig a grave in half an hour but goes quiescent after that. And a few sacks of soil to fill in the grave afterwards. She’s raiding Grandmama’s gardening shed as we speak.”

“Moira gardens?”

“Yes, during the three months a year when this part of the planet isn’t covered in snow, which generally coincide with her visits to us. Although really, she doesn’t have to be physically present, because it’s Cetagandan haut-lady-style gardening, which involves _designing_ very beautiful gardens and instructing other people to do all the work.”

“ _You’d_ be good at Cetagandan haut-lady gardening.”

“Hey, now, that isn’t fair. I’ve been doing my part hauling dead and unconscious men around all day. And I’m not really _built_ for that sort of thing, not like you are.”

“Aww, has somebody broken a nail?”

Byerly inspected his hands ruefully. “Several.”

* * *

Rish arrived half an hour later on a float-scooter loaded with various objects, including a box of short-acting mycoborer, several enormous sacks of topsoil, gardening gloves, a kitchen knife ... and three cocktail glasses, a bottle of soda water, a couple of limes, and a cucumber. Ivan blinked in puzzlement at the last few items. He had a vague notion, picked up from Old Earth detective novels, that it was possible to dissolve bodies with lime; but surely you would need a lot more of it, and he could not imagine what they were going to do with the cucumber.

She put on her gloves, consulted the instructions on the mycoborer box, and sprinkled a little of it on the ground in a rough oblong. “That should do it. It says it will take about thirty to forty-five minutes.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Ivan asked.

“Drink, of course,” said Byerly. “What else are you going to do while you’re hanging out on a snow-covered hillside with a dead man and a genetically engineered fungus?”

“You said you had vodka,” said Rish, “but drinking straight vodka out of the bottle is absolutely _disgusting_ and I don’t know how you Barrayarans can stand it, so I brought a few things to improve it.”

While the mycoborer went to work, Rish took possession of the bottle of vodka and did something with lime juice, soda water, snow, and slices of cucumber that turned out to be delicious and refreshing, if (in Ivan’s opinion) a bit more suited to a pleasant summer afternoon under a tree than a corpse-disposal party in sub-freezing temperatures. At any rate, it was a _great_ improvement on trying to dig a grave by hand.

* * *

“Shouldn’t one of us say a few words?” asked Ivan, as they spread the last of Moira’s garden soil on the grave and heaped a little snow on top. “I mean, I don’t suppose you actually burn a _death-offering_ for someone who was trying to kill you, but it is a funeral, after all.”

Byerly raised his glass. “To Baron Burr,” he said, “who had _much_ more pleasant company at his funeral than he ever kept in life, and to Jackson’s Whole, which is creeping incrementally closer to civilization now that he’s gone.”

Rish grabbed him by the shoulders and started to shake him. “Are you telling me that you’ve killed _Baron Burr_ and made me help you bury him in an unmarked grave, and you didn’t even think to mention who he _was?_ ”

“Gently, my dear, you’re making me spill my cocktail all over my new _coat_. Yes, we’ve killed Baron Burr. I didn’t realize you had ... um ... a sentimental attachment to him?”

“I _don’t_ have a sentimental attachment to him, my parents have a _contract_ out on him! Now we’ve got to dig him up again and clean him off so we can show them the corpse! It would have been _much_ less work if you’d only explained who he was in the first place, and we could have been sitting by a nice, warm fire an hour ago!” She flounced off to retrieve the trowels from the float-sledge.

Ivan turned to Byerly. “Wait, how is it that she didn’t already _know_ it was Baron Burr’s body? What did you say to her when you called her – ‘Hi, sweetie, why don’t you come out here and help us bury a corpse?’ And she just said ‘Yes, dear,’ like that, without even asking whose corpse it was or why we’d killed him?”

“I don’t call her _sweetie_ ,” said Byerly with dignity, “but – yes, other than that, that’s pretty much how the conversation went. Wouldn’t Tej do the same for you?”

“I hope not,” said Ivan, fearing at once that she _would_. “I mean – loyalty is all very admirable in a partner, but I think it’s a good idea to be a bit _inquisitive_ when someone asks you to help them dispose of a body!”

“Oh, so do I. I’d have been _very_ inquisitive if Rish had been the one asking _me_. But I’m not Jacksonian, and they’ve learned to forgive me my strange off-world scruples.”

* * *

To Ivan’s delight, Rish took possession of one of the trowels herself and handed the other one to Byerly with a meaningful look, which meant that _Ivan_ got to stand around sipping his slushy vodka drink and doing nothing in particular while they unearthed Baron Burr. Since they were digging in loose, unfrozen soil this time, the disinterment didn’t take long.

Ivan, of course, got drafted once again to help them haul the stiffening Baron out of the grave and brush the topsoil off of him. He and Byerly were almost inured to the gruesomeness of the task by then. Rish seemed to have an innate ability to deal with mutilated corpses with equanimity.

“It’s a pity that you did that to his _face_ ,” she commented, “because it makes him almost impossible to recognize, but the Baronne should be able to do a DNA match and confirm his identity. The difficulty, of course, will be convincing his _people_ he’s dead. I wonder if he has any tattoos...”

* * *

Rish positively refused to ride in the float-sledge if Ivan was piloting, so he handed over the keys, settled himself in the back next to the unfortunate Baron Burr, and listened to By and Rish bickering.

“Well, I don’t see why you should be at all shy about telling them you killed him. The Baron and Baronne will be _delighted_ , and it _was_ part of your Deal that you didn’t mind doing them a few favors whenever they didn’t conflict with your other obligations.”

“The sort of favors I agreed to do included interior decorating, giving advice on dealing with the Emperor of Barrayar, and _very_ occasional intelligence work. I am _not_ prepared to go around assassinating people for your parents!”

“But it doesn’t matter that you weren’t _prepared_ to do it,” said Rish, “you’ve _done_ a perfectly good job, and you might as well get proper _credit_ for it.”

“But, my dear, there is such a thing as _setting a dangerous precedent_...”

* * *

Rish, eventually, won the argument, and Shiv and Udine Arqua were duly presented with the corpse of Baron Burr. As predicted, they seemed immensely pleased with the gift, and Udine ordered the body taken to her lab at once so that she could do the genetic testing necessary for a positive identification. It appeared that House Burr was only a House Minor, but a troublesome one, and Ivan’s in-laws had long been planning a takeover.

“Good God, Shiv,” said By, “you’re not thinking of going into the slave trade yourself? Because I feel obliged to warn you, that would cancel out the _very_ mutually beneficial agreement you have with our Emperor...”

“Of course not!” said the Baron. “We intend to open ransom negotiations with the families and governments of Burr’s abductees, but our primary interest is annexing his territory and facilities. On the whole, I think your government will be pleased. A slightly larger sphere of influence on Jackson’s Whole for them, a buffer zone for us. Win-win. You and Ivan seem to have handled yourselves well, for amateurs. The facial damage was unfortunate, but it was otherwise a very creditable job, worth the regular contract killer pay rate. Any interest in more work of that sort?”

“I haven’t the slightest interest in pursuing a regular career as a _hit man_ ,” said Byerly. “It’s a _most_ uncivilized profession. And I doubt very much that Ivan is interested in becoming a hit man, either –”

“ _Thank_ you,” said Ivan.

“– but, on this occasion, we’re prepared to make you a Deal.”

“ _We?_ ” asked Ivan in horror.

“We’re willing to waive the usual killers’ fee. Completely. In exchange, we ask that you release any of Baron Burr’s prisoners who are subjects of the Barrayaran Imperium into my custody, without asking for your usual cut of the ransom.”

“Our intel says there are some Komarrans. Do you want them, too?”

“I said _subjects of the Barrayaran Imperium_ , not _Barrayaran subjects of the Imperium_. Yes.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” said Shiv. “Komarrans are _lucrative_ if you handle the hostage negotiations through private channels. It’s an oligarchy, you know.”

“Ah, but you don’t know that these particular ones are rich. Besides, we’re your sons-in-law, or as good as, and you know you can rely on our discretion. You can afford to cut us a few favors in exchange for keeping things in the family.”

“I don’t see what Ivan gets out of this Deal. Ivan, are you prepared to offer me anything better?”

“No,” said Ivan decisively. “By and I are a _team_ , and I’m on board with his terms. Also, I want your word that none of this _ever_ gets out to my superiors in the diplomatic corps.”

“In exchange for ...”

“Tabs on what Baron Burr’s hit men are up to,” Byerly offered. “I’ve got them bugged and tracked, and as long as it’s not information that could put the Imperium’s interests at risk, I’ll share everything I learn. Deal?”

“Deal. One more thing, how did you manage to get close enough to Baron Burr to kill him? My people have been trying for _months_.”

“He was trying to kill _me_ ,” By explained, “and one does have to be at close range to do that. And it makes sense that he would take only a few men he trusted. I suppose he thought three against one were good enough odds. He hadn’t reckoned on my bringing Ivan.”

Shiv’s eyes lit up. “If you’re not interested in regular work as a contract killer, how about live bait?”

“Probably not. Although it might depend on the reasons, and the circumstances.”

“Oh no, you _don’t_ ,” said Rish decisively. She glared at the Baron. “Don’t even _think_ of asking him again. Don’t be a fool, By, we’ve got a _child_ to think of.”

* * *

After Udine confirmed that the corpse was Baron Burr, things swung into motion very rapidly. Shiv summoned Star and Pidge, who began rounding up House Cordonah’s security personnel and anyone else who looked like they might be useful in conducting a coup. Ivan decided that this would be an excellent time to make himself scarce. Besides, he desperately needed a _shower_.

Dinner that evening was a rather tense and quiet meal, at least for the adults in the room. Ivan was sure that it was also an excellent meal, since it always was when Rish had been doing the cooking, but he couldn’t bring himself to do more than pick at his steak. He knew it had to be vat-meat, because Rish insisted on that, but it was still awfully _bloody_. He shoved most of his over to Byerly, who had been eyeing it hungrily, and who remarked that open-air exercise always gave him an appetite.

What, Ivan wondered, was it like to live on a world where this sort of thing was _normal?_

A couple of hours later, House Cordonah’s makeshift army turned up again, having executed a full-scale takeover of House Burr, and handed a number of shaken and frightened prisoners over to Ivan.

Ivan went to hunt up Byerly, since this was obviously _his_ problem to deal with, and found him reading a children’s book in Anya’s playroom, with Anya and Paddy nestled on either side of him and Xav on his lap. “My, aren’t we cozy and domestic tonight?”

“I feel _very much_ in the mood for cozy and domestic,” said By. “No, Xav, it’s not time to turn the pages yet, I’m not finished ... Oh, _all right_ , have it your way. And they lived happily ever after, the end.”

“That can’t be the _end_ , Da,” said Anya. “Things are supposed to _happen_ first.”

“... And they were all swallowed by a giant python, and it was too dark in there to read any more. The end.”

“That isn’t a _happy_ ending,” protested Anya.

“It is for the _python_ ... Oh, _fine_. And they were all swallowed by a giant python, and it was very dark in there, so they kept groping around without being able to see a thing, and bumping into all the other things the python had swallowed from time to time ... all of which were perfectly useless things in their present predicament, like trowels and hair dryers. And the two boys weren’t _any_ help whatsoever, because ... because one of them was claustrophobic, and the other one ... hadn’t ever been much good at boy stuff. But luckily the princess remembered that she had her Vorfemme knife hidden in her boot, and she was able to cut their way out of the python from the _inside_. So she rescued her friends, and they all lived happily ever after. And the moral of this story is, you can be as gorgeous and sparkly and princessy as you like, but _always_ carry a weapon. That goes for boys too, especially the gorgeous part.”

“But that isn’t a happy ending for the _python_ ,” said Paddy.

“Oh, the python was fine. They slapped some liquid bandage on him after they’d cut their way out, and he went on a liquid diet for a week, and he was as good as new after that. He’d learned his lesson about swallowing people, though. He stuck to eating goats and pigs after that.”

Ivan cleared his throat, just as Paddy began to object that this wasn’t a happy ending for the _goats and pigs_. “By, you’ve just had thirteen Barayarran and Komarran abductees of various ages and sexes released to your custody. Suffering from varying degrees of trauma, and all very hungry. Baron Burr doesn’t seem to have been treating them well.”

“No, human traffickers are _notoriously_ poor hosts, aren’t they? You’d better take over with the kids while I deal with this.” Byerly dropped a kiss on Anya’s forehead, told Ivan, “Don’t let her forget to brush her teeth,” and went off to be an all-purpose fixer of troubles.

Ivan, meanwhile, set about the far more difficult task of putting his own sons and By’s daughter to bed, and defining _abductees, trauma_ , and _human traffickers_ in terms an inquisitive five-year-old could understand.

* * *

After he had finally gotten the children to sleep, Ivan tried to explain the day’s events to his wife. They required quite a _lot_ of explanation; Tej was _just barely_ willing to accept that Byerly had not given him permission to tell anybody about their meeting with Baron Burr, but she found it much harder to understand why he and By and Rish had gathered in the wilderness for corpse disposal and afternoon cocktails _without inviting her_. Ivan’s attempt to explain that he had no idea she _enjoyed_ that sort of thing fell on deaf ears.

_Jacksonians!_

He could hear quite a lot of chatter from the dining room, and, eventually, someone playing the guitar and a couple of unfamiliar voices singing Komarran pop hits. If he hadn’t known better, he would have simply assumed By and Rish were hosting a successful party.

At last, much later, all the voices went silent. Ivan found Byerly in the kitchen, finishing off a bottle of wine and very pointedly leaving the dishes for tomorrow.

“I ought to kill you for not warning me about _that_ part of Anya’s good-night ritual.”

“The part where she asks –”

“– ‘Uncle Ivan, tell me _all about everything you did today_ ’.”

“Ah.” Byerly tried not to laugh, and failed. “Always a dangerous question on Jackson’s Whole. I should have warned you, but I didn’t think. However did you answer her?”

“I lied my head off.”

“Good plan.”

“So, um, how are all the ex-prisoners? What did you do with them?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Paperwork and a decent meal. We hadn’t very much in the fridge, but luckily they were more in the mood for comfort food than anything, so I made a big pot of groats, and Rish produced some first-rate omelets out of nothing at all – there’s one left over for you, by the way, since she was worried you might starve before morning – I keep telling her wild-caughts can skip a meal or two with no ill effects, but she never believes me. And I told the kids my python story, with a few more embellishments, and the adults went through half a dozen bottles of wine and a couple of grams of K –”

“K?”

“Kavaweed. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of being able to put it on my expense report, even though it’s perfectly legal here. And Rish promised them a proper Barrayaran-Komarran feast tomorrow – do you know any good Komarran recipes, by the way? – and everybody went off to bed, much less traumatized than before.”

“Except you.”

“And you. There’s a bit of kavaweed left over too, if you’re interested. I’d recommend. It’s safe and non-addictive – Amiri says it’s really much better for you than alcohol. And it helps you sleep, particularly if you’ve had a trying day.”

Ivan was about to protest that _unlike_ some people, he was subject to random drug testing. Then he changed his mind. “Sure.”

“Good, I think I need it, but I didn’t want to smoke an entire joint by myself.”

While Byerly rolled a joint, with a facility that suggested long expertise, Ivan helped himself to what remained of the wine and began wolfing down the cooling omelet; he found that he was suddenly very hungry, after all.

* * *

After a few puffs of kavaweed, Ivan’s lips and tongue felt slightly numb, and the stars seemed much brighter. A little nearer, too. “Which one’s ours?”

“That yellowish one near the horizon.”

“Huh. It’s so small.” 

He thought about all of Barrayar, all the people and places he knew, orbiting that little star, and took another drag of the kavaweed before passing the joint to Byerly. It had an earthy, vaguely spicy taste, like the smell of autumn leaves. And By was right: it was relaxing. The world felt slightly luminous, and he didn’t seem to notice the cold. 

“Was today a typical day at the office for you?” Ivan asked after a while.

“No, sometimes it gets exciting.”

“What _is_ Anya’s understanding of your job, just out of curiosity?”

“I write letters to the Emperor, letting him know everything that’s going on here. And I try to see that the things the Emperor wants to happen on Jackson’s Whole do happen, although sometimes I have to guess at what the Emperor would want in any given situation. And I help people who are in trouble, especially if they’re Barrayaran. That seems to cover it. A lot easier to explain to a child than my old job would have been, really.”

“And – what is Rish going to tell her, someday, when she asks why doing those things made somebody angry enough to murder you?”

“That day hasn’t come yet.”

“It almost did.”

“Believe me, it hasn’t escaped me that if you hadn’t been there, _I_ would be the one frozen stiff in an unmarked grave right about now. I do believe I owe you a few favors, Ivan.”

“How about you start by picking someone _other than me_ next time you need backup?”

Byerly shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask for anything but that. You’re really quite _good_ at being backup, you know.”

“... And the reward for a job well done is another job. I should have _let_ them kill you.”

“You’d miss me.”

“Doubtful.”

“You wouldn’t want to be the one who had to explain my death to Rish. Nor to Dono, once you got home.”

“True.”

* * *

Whether from kavaweed or general exhaustion, Ivan slept late the next morning. When he finally stumbled into the kitchen in search of coffee, Rish collared him and ordered him to start peeling and chopping vegetables. She was in the midst of preparing a meal for thirteen guests – not counting Ivan, Tej, and their children, who seemed to have been demoted, for the moment, from _company_ to _unpaid help_.

Ivan looked up from a mountain of onions, eyes stinging. “Where’s By?” he asked.

“Making arrangements,” said Rish vaguely, “and looking after our visitors. If you’re thinking of twitting him for laziness, don’t. He’s been busy since first thing this morning.”

“What sort of arrangements?”

“Return travel, among other things. It’s in the shuttle lines’ best interests to cut him a few favors – piracy and abduction are _bad for their business_ – but they need to be reminded of that from time to time.”

“Is doing something about piracy and abduction, um, a regular part of his job these days?”

“ _He_ seems to have decided it is.” Rish gave an I-don’t-get-it-either shrug, and turned back to the pastry dough she was rolling out.

* * *

Much later, when everyone had consumed a generous amount of food and wine, and the Komarrans had started singing pop songs again, Ivan took refuge in the room that By grandiosely referred to as ImpSec’s Jackson’s Whole field office. It was, to Ivan’s mind, a bit understaffed and _much_ too well-stocked with liquor to count as a proper field office, but maybe ImpSec didn’t have regulations about such things. The decor was decidedly Barrayaran, with a great deal of real wood and a little, red-leaved silver maple sculpture standing on an end table.

“How did your, uh, arrangements work out?” Ivan asked, once he had been helped to a drink.

“ _Very_ well. All but one of our visitors are booked on the next commercial shuttle to Escobar, and back home from there.”

“All but one?”

“That older woman who was sitting next-but-one to you at dinner.”

“The quiet lady?”

“Yes. She seems to have developed a severe phobia of jump-travel. She was traveling off-world for the first time at sixty, and I’m afraid being hijacked and kidnapped did not predispose her to venture a return journey.”

“What is she going to _do?_ She can’t very well stay on Jackson’s Whole for the rest of her life!”

“Oh, I think she can, actually. At least in the short term. I talked with her a bit this morning and she’s very nice, just retired after thirty-five years as a primary school teacher and decided to see a little of the galaxy. Never married, no children, nothing to draw her back to Barrayar. Anya’s getting to the age when she’ll need a tutor, and I think this woman might suit very well. And I’d enjoy having someone from home about the place. It gets a bit exhausting having to explain your entire worldview to _everyone_ you meet.”

“Yes, I suppose it must get – lonely sometimes.”

“Quite. And, of course, by now most of the other Houses have tumbled to the fact that I’m _not_ really the Arquas’ interior decorator – hence our little adventure yesterday – so it’s high time I had a sub-agent whose cover is a bit more intact.”

Ivan choked. “You’re going to make a nice, timid, retired spinster schoolteacher be a _spy?_ On _Jackson’s Whole?_ ”

“I’m not going to _make_ her do anything. It would be strictly voluntary, although, of course, being Barrayaran, I’m sure she’ll be very willing to serve the Imperium in any capacity she can. And I doubt that she’s _timid_ about anything except jump-travel. She could hardly have taught primary school for thirty-five years if she were.”

“Is there going to be ... any other fallout from this? After those two guards find their way back to Burr’s allies, if he had any?”

Byerly was getting that goddamned Vorrutyer smirk again. “Definitely _not_. After they realized they’d failed to get their man and lost the Baron in the bargain, they didn’t even _try_ to go back and explain matters, they just headed for the nearest shuttleport. And booked passage _as far away as they could possibly go_.”

“Which was ...?”

“Think it through, Ivan, and it’ll come to you.”

“... _Athos?_ ”

“Exactly. We _have_ enabled a beautiful romance. Or maybe a guilt-stricken retreat to a monastery. From our perspective, it amounts to the same thing.”

“Shiv’s not going to be too pleased if you can’t get any intelligence from them. I hope he keeps up his end of the bargain. About not telling anyone about my role in this, I mean.”

“Ah well, I’m sure you’ve heard the expression _what happens on the Whole, stays on the Whole_. I expect your boss will understand.”

“The diplomatic service doesn’t exactly _encourage_ recreational travel to Jackson’s Whole. The general feeling is that I’m completely insane to spend my leave here. And, after yesterday, I’m starting to see their point.”

“You know, maybe next time you’ve got leave, we should meet up for a nice family vacation somewhere else. Defined, in Rish’s and my case, as a vacation _from_ the more alarming members of one’s family.”

“Sounds all right. Where d’you want to go?”

“I don’t know. In a couple of years, the kids will be old enough to appreciate a little history and culture ... what do you think about some of the more civilized parts of Earth? Maybe London, it’s hard to imagine running into any trouble in London ... Why, Ivan, what’s the matter? You look like you’re about to faint again.”


End file.
